Burning Copper
by Muscarie
Summary: Very short look at the feast from prince Oberryn's point of view. It seemed he had not been the only one to be stung by the burning copper of Sansa's hair.
1. Chapter 1

**Contains spoilers for the second episode of season 4. **

The Red Viper did not need to dart his tongue out to feel how extremely wrong things had suddenly turned.

Tyrion Lannister was refusing to kneel, King Joffrey was refusing to lose face, and no one knew how to break the horrible tension they were all feeling. Oberryn glanced around. All these proud lords and ladies, smiles frozen in place, pretending not to feel the electric, morbid stench, pretending not to notice the cold sweat running down their backs in the insuffocatebly hot air.

And still, the little lion refused to kneel, and the little king refused to let it go.

Oberryn's keen eye saw Tyrion's young wife shift uneasily in her seat, saw her resignated glare on her husband's back, silently urging him to just give in. He would kneel to his nephew, so what? If kneeling meant life then kneel they would. The young lady Stark, no, the young lady _Lannister's_ mask of steel did not let any feeling shine through, but Oberryn had seen many such porcelain masks before and he knew the lady' strength lied in her ability to conceal and suppress her feelings. She needed to survive, it was pure miracle she was still among them to begin with.

She was doing her best to disappear into the tapestry, still as a statue. This was her only chance at King's Landing, disappear, become a flower on the wall. So why was she letting herself urge her husband on, show an opinion?

What a comical little couple they made, these two. They were so ill-matched it was risible. The tall girl with the stocky dwarf. He could see no love whatsoever between them, yet they supported each other, like two prisoners sentenced to death forced to share a cell as they awaited their execution.

The lady was stunning.

As she watched her husband, Oberryn was able to let his eyes wander over Sansa's form once again. Tall, slender, graceful, a true lady of the North. Her face was lovely, pale and smooth, her eyes shone a bright blue although she did not smile. But her hair, her hair was simply glorious. He could see she sported a simple, 'boring' hairdo designed to help her become as invisible as was humanly possible when burdened with such flamboyant beauty, but the copper tresses rebelliously caught any light and reflected it with stunning intensity.

His mouth went dry.

Suddenly, her ocean gaze crossed his dark one and he looked down, caught red handed. Again. She had captured his attention once already, when she had got out of her seat and knelt under the table to pass the fallen cup to her lord husband, sparing him the need to kneel at least once. He had looked at her then, touched by her quiet strength, silenced by her entrancing beauty. And she had caught him too, then.

His eyes travelled up to the lady standing behind the king, Queen Margaery, he corrected himself, and he saw with embarrassment that she had caught him looking at the lady Sansa too. Again. She threw him a discreet smile which he returned. He could consider himself warned. He had been caught twice, and she was the Queen. A talented Queen, at that.

He settled for looking at his hands instead, crossed in front of him, and in which were entwined his paramour's delicate fingers.

"I said, KNEEL!"

And still the drenched dwarf would not kneel.

"The pie!" Cried Margaery, and tension was lost, everyone relieving in the Queen' sense of timing.

A gigantic cake was brought forward, the King snatched his cup away from his uncle, Oberryn caught the lady Sansa' solemn posture weakening ever so slightly, he saw the soft sigh of pure relief escape her pink lips, and he saw both the new Queen and the dwarf lord look to the young lady Lannister.

It seemed he was not the only one whose eye had been stung by the burning copper of Sansa's hair.


	2. Lemon Cakes

**Ok, so... It was a one shot, but I committed another one. Sorry, it won't happen** **again.**

No one knew quite what it was, but they could all feel it.

The dwarf, the king's fool, the new Queen, the matriarch from High Gardens, the Viper. Even the Hound had felt it.

There was something about the lady Sansa which brought out the knight in shining armor in everyone around.

Everyone except the King, obviously.

Maybe it was her manners, or her elegance, or her gracefulness. Maybe it was her beauty. The flame of her hair. She was like a lady from the old tales, tales which told of genteel love and good deeds, and all men, or women, who got near Sansa seemed to get the impulse to be more like the heroes from those stories.

Oberyn could not tell what it was, but the lady Sansa made him want to behave, and yet he knew nothing much of her.

Oh he knew of her family, of course, he knew of her father's assassination, and he knew of her mother, and brother, and his pregnant wife, killed at a wedding. He knew a lot about grief, and this, he felt, meant he knew a fair bit about Sansa Stark. Sansa Lannister had to live along her family's murderers, along a teenage boy who despised her, and she had to share her bed with a Lannister._ Not that they seem to do much in that bed_, he thought. Tyrion Lannister was renowned for his antics with prostitutes, and he generally had a taste for attractive women and good wits. If it was not for his blood, Oberyn would be tempted to call the dwarf a decent person. But as decent as Tyrion might be, Oberyn had not known a Northerner to deny an offered virgin, whatever said virgin's wishes might be. And yet, everyone with the slightest bit of intelligence could see that Tyrion Lannister had yet to touch his wife, and that the wife repaid this...this _decency_ with quiet respect. It would just be a nod of her copper head, or a hand put on his arm, or a graceful smile, or the way she discreetly made allowances for his height without it looking overdone or anything other than common courtesy. It was not much, in other words, yet Tyrion seemed to rejoice in it, and Oberyn could feel himself starting to wish for it too.

He, too, wanted the lady's chaste favours.

He, too, could be the lady's righteous knight.

So when he caught the burning copper of Sansa's hair betraying her presence in the gardens, Prince Oberyn all but leapt down the stairs to try and meet her. Not that he had any idea of what he would say to her. He strode through the paths, all the way to the balcony he would later learn was the lady's favourite. When he got there, he saw her sitting there, with her back to him, the flames of her glorious hair flowing down her straight back. She was looking at the sea, and the gentle breeze carressed her hair and was all her tresses needed as an excuse to catch and reflect the sunlight, throwing it to the world in a thousand directions. He saw that there was a plate full of lemon cakes, the lady's favourite, on the table by her arm. _This is it_, he thought, _we all feel we must ensure that before eveything else is done, the lady Sansa's plate has been filled with lemon cakes. _

He stood there, not knowing what to do next, but quite content to just be near her for a little while. He supposed she had come there to be alone with her pain. He had done that too, at first, then when solitude had proved sufficient he had come to King's Landing with a revenge.

His thoughts had started to drift off when a spark of fire caught his eye and he looked back at the lady. She was flinching away from a persistant bumblebee who could not seem to decide whether it wanted to land on her cakes or on her nose. This was his chance.

Quick and swift as a snake, Oberyn crossed the few feet separating him from the lady, and in one easy movement he picked up an empty cup and imprisoned the bumblebee in it, trapping it on the table. Startled, Sansa looked up to him, and, his dark eyes looking into her bright blue ones, Oberyn removed his hand from the upside down cup on the table. The bumblebee could be heard inside, flying around and clumsily bumping into the sides of the cup.

The Dornish prince let his fingers linger on the table by the cup, just a few centimetres away from her arm. He could not, for the life of him, tear his eyes away from Sansa's. Her eyes were of a marvellous colour. They were of a deep, dark blue, like when you were far at sea and the sun was shining above your head, and there was a star-like pattern of crisper, lighter blue around the irises. Was it the eyes, then, that everyone fought for? Or was it the extraordinary combination of colours, from the roaring fire of her hair to the deep blue of her eyes? The soft pink of her cheeks and lips? How did so much colour end up bottled up in one single girl?

"Thank you, my lord...?" She said, ever so proper.

"Oberyn Martell" he replied, skipping the Prince.

He had still to look away. He could tell she was slightly impressed by his antics, and he rejoiced in it.

"I do not believe we have been introduced yet, I am lady S..."

"Sansa!" a voice called out.

The spell was broken, they both turned around and saw Margaery Tyrell walking over to them, a slight frown upon her pretty face. Oberyn smiled. It seemed the young lady Tyrell was never very far from Sansa. Margaery reached them, greeted Oberyn as elegantly as a Queen would, then extended her hand towards Sansa.

"I must speak to my dear Sansa, I am afraid, Prince Oberyn."

"'Tis no trouble, my lady" replied Oberyn, bowing slightly.

He watched as the two ladies retreated to the castle, and his hand found the cup. It is strange, he thought, so much fuss over one single little lady from the North... He released the bumblebee, which flew straight to the lady Sansa's forgotten cakes.

**sorry.**


	3. Football, a way of life

**So, the one shot is turning into a story. I don't mean to confuse anybody, but the chapters which will come up from here on are set in the future, well in fact in the present day and in this world (no dragons). They are still centred around Oberyn and Sansa and their relationship, but under completely different circumstances. See what you think**.

It was a tingling, it started from the small of her back and crept up to her neck. It placed its hand on her neck, shoulders, made her hair stand. It was not entirely unpleasant, just extremely... Distracting.

Ever since Sansa had fled the States, and the Lannisters, to work for her friend Margaery's grandmother Olenna Tyrrell, ever since she had met Oberyn, another migrant worker, that tingling sensation his eyes left on her skin had not left her once.

Sansa had no idea what to do with her life, she had just fled that house, and instead of going back to England to her family she had followed her new friend Margaery, from Australia, to Los Jardines Altos, a small yet turistic settlement on the island of Cuba, where the latter's grandmother's businesses, schools, and farming lands provided work for many foreign workers. Sansa was definitely the only pale skinned, red headed girl there, but as strange as it was she had somewhow adapted to her new circumstances. Her, the posh British girl who had never worked in her life.

She shared a flat with Margaery, and did whatever Olenna needed her to do. Usually, Olenna sent her to local schools she financed to help out in English lessons. Sometimes, the old lady put Sansa at the reception desk at one of her hotels.

Sansa liked it all, and had not idea if the two Tyrell ladies realised how grateful she was to them. She had more or less explained her situation before, but no words were truly strong enough to begin revealing the horror she had been through at the Lannister household. Sansa did not want to talk about it, she just needed to forget it. Live for the moment, in that hot town, comfortably isolated from the world by her lack of Spanish.

It was always hot in their flat, so the girls slept with their windows opened every night. At first that had scared Sansa to no ends, with all the stories she had heard about bad men climbing up windows to hurt poor foreign girls, like her. In the States, or rather, in the social circles she came from, Latinos in general were regarded with doubt, and Central and Southern American countries were seen as highly dangerous places where no white girl ever thrived. Quickly though, she realised that it was perfectly safe to sleep with your window open, and that the people who sang drunkenly in the streets while migrating to a different bar were far more interested in having a good night than in stealing hers and Margaery's. Thinking back to her doubts and fears, Sansa felt so embarrassed and ignorant and, and snob, that she swore to herself never to admit them to anyone.

That morning when the "incredibly awkward incident of the juice and the pyjamas" occurred, she wore silly pyjamas Jon had brought her from Scotland a few years before . It was a large white t-shirt that read in big bold letters "FOOTBALL, A WAY OF" accross the shoulders , accompanied by a pair of big knickers, on the back of which stretched a big bright red "LIFE". If she stood straight, the t-shirt reached her thighs, but if she bent, or lifted her arms, or even sat down the t-shirt came up and everyone could admire the knickers underneath. Therefore, if she wore it around other people, Sansa always put on some pyjama bottoms too.

It was so hot at night that she often slept without those though, and without any sheets, and with the fan on full, its electric line stretched to extremes to get as close to her bed as possible.

That Saturday morning, she got up and went to the kitchen to fetch herself a glass of cool juice (she had long abandoned all ideas of hot cups of tea), confident that she was alone in the flat. Margaery was either still deeply asleep in her room, or she had already gone to fetch the papers. She practically jogged down the old, slightly unsafe stairs and made a bee line for the fridge. She took the orange juice out, then turned to the cupboard and stood on her tiptoes to reach the glasses stored there.

"Hum, um, hello"

Sansa had jumped so hard the glass went flying from the cupboard, but she somehow managed to catch it in flight. She flipped round, wide eyed, her bright hair accross her face, only to see bloomin' Oberyn seating on one of the two setties, just a few feet away.

"Hello, sorry, uh, Margaery say bring the papers here while she go get the coffee"

What?

"I meet her at the shop, she forgot coffee so she said come here and she make us coffee later or go out for breakfast" continued Oberyn, who pointed at the coffee table. Indeed, there were the day's papers on there.

"Oh" was all Sansa could manage. She was suddenly feeling very aware of the bareness of her legs. Had he seen her... Her... Well, had he seen her?

"Ok" she said, trying to regain her composure. She brushed her hair aside, trying to think of a way to look relaxed without actually looking too relaxed. She pulled a bit at her t-shirt, crossed her legs a bit. "Ok, well, right"

Wonderful.

"Well um, I was just getting some, some juice there" she waved the juice in the air as if it was not clear enough that she was talking about that juice in particular, "um, would you like some?"

"No thank y.. Well yes please"

Great. She turned to the cupboard again and grabbed the first glass there was, pulled at her t-shirt again, then poured them a glass each and walked over to him. The settee slouched quite low, and she briefly wondered if he could see under her top a bit. The old blush crept along her collar bone and up her neck. She hoped her hair concealed it. She handed him his glass, and to convince herself, and him, that everything was absolutely fine, she sat opposite him on the other couch. Her t-shirt tried to climb up her legs but she held it firmly in place as she sat down.

They sat in very uncomfortable silence for what felt like an eternity. He seemed to be looking everywhere but at her, and occasionally took big gulps of his juice. Sansa had yet to touch hers, the tightness of her throat preventing her from attempting to.

"Well, I'll just, I'll just go, I just need to... I'll see you later, have a nice time" she blurted out as she extracted herself from the settee as gracefully as gravity and old farty leather would allow.

"¿Disculpe?" He said in Spanish.

"Bye" she clarified, as she reteated towards the stairs.

"Bye. Sansa!"

She turned, her foot already on the first step. She realised she had left her juice on the table, untouched. Nevermind, just go.

"Come with us?"

"Oh no, it's ok, bye bye"

She ran up the steps back to the safety of her room, utterly mortified. There was no way in hell she would ever be able to face him again.

She would soon have to, as it turned out.

Margaery had just laughed her head off upon hearing her story, saying how Oberyn probably could not believe his luck on what had started like a regular Saturday morning.

"He must be blessing me and my forgetfulness" said Margaery, and Sansa suddenly got the feeling that this "forgetfulness" was in fact part of her friend's master scheme, the one that aimed at placing her in very awkward situations around a man who was 10 years older than her, of whom she did not speak the language, and who did not speak hers.

"Why did you not join us then? Too busy combing your hair?"

"It's just too awkward, you two just chat so easily and I'm just there being...being tall and awkward"

"Sansa, what are you talking about?"

"Well you both speak Spanish, for a start"

"Oh Sansa, you speak Spanish too"

No, she did not. Most of the time she could tell what people were talking about, but to start speaking herself was another story.

"And Oberyn has been learning English. He's really good"

"Is he?" Snorted the red head.

"Yes, he just is a bit shy to talk in front of you. Anyway, next week is the start of the holiday, so Friday night everyone is going out. What are you going to wear? I'm wearing blue, so whatever you're wearing make it another colour ok?"

"Yes don't worry, I am not wearing a dress anyway. I left them all at the Lannisters' "

Margaery looked up sharply, visibly regretting her quick words. Of course, Sansa had fled out of that house, leaving most if her possessions behind and escaping accross the border. She had only brought with her a few clothes and pictures, and a Spanish dictionary. Margaery knew, for she was the one who had arranged for Sansa to flee in the first place.

"Well, you can borrow one of mine. Don't worry, it won't be too sexy"

Sansa did not see much of Oberyn afterwards that week, only from far. If she passed him at work she only lifted her eyes at the very last second, offering a quick smile which he always returned, then moved on. The tingling was there though, as always.


	4. Down in Mexico

**Following on what happened previously. Forgive the possibly poor English and poor Spanish, neither is my first language. Find in your heart to forgive and forget, and enjoy the love story :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, and make no profits.**

On the Friday, Olenna released them all early, and the ladies all ran home to get ready for the evening. From what she gathered, the men were going straight to the bar.

Margaery shoved a dress in Sansa's arms then went to her own room to "get fabulous", as Sansa liked to think of it.

The dress Margaery had given her was silvery, it was fairly short though long enough to cover a decent amount of Sansa's long legs. The cleavage was rather deep, and the dress was cut at the back too, but as Margaery had said once: "cleavage only looks vulgar on big breasts". She still felt mildly uncomfortable, and was rummaging through her things to find a nice cardigan to cover her shoulders. Sansa finally put on a shiny cardigan she had yet to return to Margaery, when the latter walked into the room, looking dashing as always.

"Oh Sansa, don't be ridiculous, it is crazy hot out there, and will be ten times worse in the bar. Take that off"

Sansa obliged, like a good girl, noticing with relief that no one was very likely to notice her around Margaery. Her blue flowy dress was so deeply cut you could almost see Margaery's belly button. It was backless, as well.

Margaery picked up her bag, and Sansa, after hesitating, applied some red lipstick on her pale lips before following her friend. If Margaery noticed the lipstick, she was diplomatic enough to stay quiet. Any comment would have definitely spooked Sansa off.

The music, which would have been corny coming from any other place, could be heard from the end of the street. The bar was so busy people were already having to stand outside. Everyone was chatting excitedly to each other, sipping drinks of various colours and sizes. Night had fallen, bringing on its moist heat. Every lady was wearing a bright dress, ridiculously high heels, and outrageously bold makeup, and Sansa felt like less of an awkward bag.

The two girls, women, made their way to the bar. Some people, mostly tourists, were already starting to dance to the cheesy Latino tunes. Margaery leaned over the bar to order, when a friend from work called her and she engaged in a lively conversation which Sansa struggled to understand over the noise.

"Sansa!"

She knew that voice, though had never heard it ring so loud. Oberyn was walking towards her, a drink in his hand, his shoulder looking like a glass of something had been poured on it, a big, almost goofy smile on his face.

"Buenas" said Oberyn as he stopped a foot or so away from her. He looked positively drunk.

"Buenas tardes, um, ¿cómo estas?" Said Sansa.

"Muy bien gracias" smiled Oberyn, still hovering dangerously close.

She was a tall girl, but the Chilean was still at least two heads taller than her.

"What you drink?"

"I'm not sure yet, I might have, ugh..."

"Espera, I know" he bent over the bar, and ordered a piña colada. Her favourite.

As the barman was preparing her drink, Oberyn went back to staring at Sansa. The young woman was searching her brains for a suitable topic of conversation, when he suddenly said something which stopped all coherent thoughts in her head.

"Football, a way of life"

"Pardon?"

Oberyn smiled wider, the wrinkles around his eyes accentuating his charm, and he put his hand on her cheek as he drew closer, to say in her ear: "football, a way of life"

Oh. Oh. So she had heard him right then. Why would he say that? What was he expecting her to say to that?

"You... Me vuelves loco" he slurred in her ear, and she tried to ignore the warm tingling that did to her neck. A bit like the sensation she got from his looks, but ten times stronger. Loco meant crazy, she knew that.

"Eres tan linda. Tu pelo es como, como cobre ardiente" he continued, before drawing back. He was looking her in the eyes then, a more serious, almost melancholic, glint in his eyes, willing her to understand. Right. Linda meant beautiful, pelo was hair, ardiente was burning... Was her hair burning?

"Lo siento, I'm sorry, I don't understand. No te entiendo" she said, smiling apologetically. "This will help me speak Spanish" she joked, picking up her piña colada. "Bebo, asi que más tarde puedo hablar español ok?"

He laughed, a nice, warm sound, and lifted his glass to hers. "Salud" they said.

It took more than a piña colada to inabriate Sansa Stark, but by the third she was seriously starting to think of herself as fluent in Spanish. Colours had gone brighter, the music was better and her shoulders and feet flexed along with the rhythm. All was well.

Margaery was owning the room, in turns dancing, laughing, delighting others with her perfect Spanish, calling out to the barmen, suggesting such or such tune which was instantly a success with the crowd. Although she knew Sansa would never oblige, Margaery still gestured to her to come and join her for a dance. Sansa always politely declined, or pretended to either fish for a straw or look into her glass in a very emphasized way which never failed to make the Australian laugh. Oberyn had yet to leave Sansa' side. His friends occasionally came up to him to start chatting, or tried to pull him over to a table, but he skillfully dodged them every time, clearly preferring to spend the evening with his boring, non-dancing ginger friend.

Their eyes met sometimes, although they mostly both quite enjoyed just sitting near each other and watching others dance.

"Do you like your... Apartamento?" Asked Oberyn. He had drunk quite a few rhums, but seemed slightly less overtly excited then he had before...was it an hour ago? Or two?

"The flat? Yes, I love it, I mean it is nothing like where I grew up nor where I used to live before Los Altos, but it is big enough for both of us. It is kind of nice too that you don't need to be that careful around the furniture, do you know what I mean? Like, the other day I spilled a whole bowl of rice and beans on the settee, and it was no big deal at all... Don't get me wrong, we do clean the place" she said, and Oberyn laughed. "But what I mean is, if I had done the same thing where I used to live before, they would have... They would have cut my hands off or something" she tried to laugh, but her unfortunate mentioning of the Lannister household had not failed to make her heart drop. Hard.

Oberyn did not really laugh, just sort of chuckled while throwing her a rather sharp, sober look.

"Where did you live before, Sansa?"

She did kind of like the way he said her name, more like "ssaaan-ssa", less like the "son-za" she used to get back in Winterfell, and nothing like the "sayn-se" the family at the King's Landing property had used to yell down the stairs, or snigger at the dinner table.

She looked at him then, unsure whether to tell him her story, and if yes how much of it exactly.

"In a place called King's Landing. It is in the States. Do you know Louisiana?"

He did.

"Well, somewhere there."

"But you are from England, no?"

"Yes, from Winterfell. It is in the north. My mum is Norwegian though."

"Far from Louisiana then, no?"

"Yes, quite far indeed. I went there to study."

She sipped at her cocktail rather forcefully, and he dropped the subject for a little bit. She could tell he was still quite intrigued. To try and deter his attention, she made sure to seem as joyful as possible, wooing and clapping at Margaery's dancing, joking about how her glass was about the same size as her face.

"Did you go to Norway often when you were little?" Asked Oberyn.

"We did, yes. Most people would go there for the summer, but we always went for the winter holidays."

"I bet it was cold"

"So, so cold. Water would freeze in the pipes, all of us children would sleep in the same bed with our socks, hats and gloves on, honestly you could see your breath when you were in bed. There was snow everywhere, it was so gorgeous."

"It gets cold in parts of Chile too. Not that cold though I suppose... It must have been strange living in Louisiana then."

"Yes. It is a lot warmer."

"What did you study there?"

"Literature. I've always loved stories."

"And you lived in that place, King's Lane...?"

"King's Landing, yes."

"And they cut people's hands off there?"

She swallowed hard. It was like an interrogation.

"No, they don't. In fact, the Americans are very friendly and welcoming, at least that's what I found. I just stayed with a family there, they welcomed me into their home and gave me free accomodation for the time I studied there. They were just a bit careful about their things, that's all. It was just a joke."

She knew it all sounded forced and wrong, alcohol made it harder for her to keep up a good mask. She quickly finished her glass, hardly tasting it, and, out of desperation, she stood and made to go join Margaery on the dancefloor.

His arm blocked her path, his large, warm hand on her arm, gentle yet firm.

"Where are you going?"

"I quite fancy dancing. Will you join us?"

"Please forgive me, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I am too curious sometimes." His hand slid down her arm to rest on her wrist. His thumb carressed the skin there.

"I would not want anyone to cut your hands off, even for the sake of a joke" he said softly. She found that air had left her lungs and that she did not have anything to say to that. Sansa kept her eyes locked onto his hand over hers. She knew he was looking at her face, with that gentle, warm look of his, and somewhere in her clouded mind she knew Margaery was looking at him looking at her looking at his hand. It was rather nice having someone older and bigger than her saying protective things about her, especially when said things worked against the Lannisters. She did not know what to do about his hand on hers, too shy to pull hers away while not entirely sure she actually wanted to pull away. He solved her dilemma by removing his hand first, picking up his glass.

"You know Oberyn, if you'd like to dance or go and chat with your friends, you don't have to stay here and keep me company."

He laughed, breaking their uneasiness: "I like your company, and maybe you will come dance with me?"

"I'm going to need another drink first I think"

"You need a tequila sunrise" he said, already gesturing to the barman.

Sansa felt the impulse to refuse, but decided against it. She could always just pretend to drink it, like she used to at King's Landing, that way she would not get so drunk she would let herself be dragged into telling him about all the evils the Lannisters had put her through. It was tempting though, she quite liked the idea of melting into his big arms and crying her soul out. Tears filled her eyes and she desperately looked around, searching for something that would drag her away from her thoughts. As if summoned, Margaery popped out of nowhere, resplendishing in her blue dress.

"Sansa! Come on darling, when are you going to dance? Oberyn you must make her dance. Sansa and I used to dance a lot in Puerto Rico last summer, do you remember that place on the beach?"

This was Margaery's talent, thought Sansa. She could make three rainy days serving drinks to rich people in a crowded resort sound like the most glamourous experience ever.

"With a lot of shame and embarrassement"

"She is a good dancer Oberyn, she has nothing to be ashamed about. Make her dance!"

"I will do my best, my lady" said Oberyn, bowing to Margaery who giggled merrily.

"He has been trying to get me drunk for about two hours, and look, my shoulders have started twitching, so surely we are getting somewhere" commented Sansa, pointing at her shoulders as if she was no longer in control of their movement. This made her two companions laugh. They certainly had drunk a bit.

"Ooooh! I know what will work!" Yelled Margaery before disappearing in the crowd once again.

"So, what sort of dancing was it?" Asked Oberyn. He really was quite handsome. In fact, he was incredibly hot.

"The bad sort. Do you dance?"

"Sometimes"

"Will you dance with me?"

"Yes, with pleasure"

"You look really hot"

Now then, she had no idea where that came from, she had not touched her new drink yet. Maybe three piña coladas had actually been a bit excessive.

He seemed to not be quite sure whether he had heard her right or not, for he looked at her, opened and closed his mouth a few times before saying "¿perdon?"

"Do you watch Tarantino?"

"¿Perdon?" He repeated.

"Quentin Tarantino. Do you watch his films?

"Sometimes" he said, visibly both confused and amused at her sudden change of attitude.

"Well, you should always watch his films. The soundtracks are always amazing. I bet you Margaery has gone to get the guys to play a Tarantino track"

Surely enough, the first, corny notes of "down in Mexico" rang loud in the bar. Sansa burst out laughing. Margaery reappeared, looking extremely proud of herself. Both girls started singing along to the lyrics.

Partly due to her current level of tipsyness, and partly due to her need to get away from Oberyn and his prying eyes, Sansa finally let Margaery lead her to the centre of the room. Fortunately, it was at that exact same moment that the lights came back on in the room, and the music was turned off.

"Oh well!" Cried Sansa, throwing her arms in the air in surrender, "my dancing tonight was not meant to be!"

Of what happened next Sansa did not have much recollection, she only knew for sure that Margaery was obviously not as tipsy as she had liked to appear when they were at the bar, for she was the one who walked them home without missing one step. Sansa had struggled to follow, relying on her friend then, she realised, being supported by Oberyn himself. He left them at their flat, and Sansa, sudenly sobered up, rushed inside and upstairs just as Margaery was expressing the appropriate words of gratitude and wishes of meeting again soon.

Sansa only managed to kick one shoe off before she fell face first onto her bed. That night, she dreamt of King's Landing.


	5. Little Dove

**Heyyyy look who's come back from the dead! A little look into what life with the Lannisters was like.**

By then, Margaery was used to Sansa's nightmares, that got her to cry in her sleep, and that she never seemed to be able to wake herself from. If it wasn't for Margaery and her keen ears, how long would Sansa be thrashing and crying in her sleep?

It had been a few weeks, however. A few weeks without nightmares, and Margaery had somewhat lost her touch, and that night when Sansa's ghosts came to haunt her Margaery had not woken up immediately.

When Sansa was about twelve, and still leaving in England, her father introduced her to his boss, Mr Baratheon. Mr Baratheon was American, and he came to visit them with his family. Mr Baratheon was a large man, bearded, he wore very neat suits, enjoyed his food and had a laughter so loud it felt like Sansa's insides shook along with it. He owned her daddy's company. He insisted you just called him Bob, sweetheart.

Along with Mr Baratheon came Ms Lannister, his wife, and their three children Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen. The first thing Sansa's mother noticed was that Mr Baratheon and his wife did not share the same name, and she tutted upon this blatant excess of feminism on Ms Lannister's part. Because it was the only thing she knew, Sansa agreed with her mother, but rebellious little Arya thought Ms Lannister to be really cool.

When the Baratheon-Lannister household walked into their home, and Sansa got to meet Cersei Lannister in person, the words that may best describe Sansa's feelings upon setting eyes and ears on Cersei Lannister for the first time may be "falling in love". Or "falling in awe", perhaps. The lady was amazing. She had long blond hair, truly green eyes, a voice that caressed your ear and made you feel special and important. Her eldest son, Joffrey, was Sansa's age and the twelve year old girl quickly fell in love with his charming ways. He asked her straight away what she made of his mother keeping her own name, and he told her immediately what he thought of it. Men and women were equal, he explained, and it was brave of his mother to keep her name. When he married, Joffrey would respect his wife's wishes regarding her name. He said everyone was a feminist, because feminist meant believing in equal rights.

Sansa was smitten.

Arya hated him.

She said all he did was explain to everyone things that were obvious. Sansa said that the only obvious thing was that Arya was eight and therefore ought to shut her mouth in the presence of guests. Arya hit Sansa.

A few years later, Robert Baratheon died, abruptly, but the grief brought by his passing kept the links strong between the two families. Sansa and Joffrey kept in touch via email and Skype, building a secure bond over the years. So when, at fifteen, Sansa got a place on a prestigious program aimed at promoting international relationships between schools, the Stark family pushed for their daughter to be sent to Louisiana, and be hosted by the Lannister family. It made sense, after all.

Sansa was a late bloomer.

Her period arrived when she was sixteen, a year after moving in with her American family. She woke up one morning in her bedroom at the Baratheon-Lannsiter household and found blood on her pyjama bottoms and on the sheets. Before she could do anything about it, Shae, the maid, arrived and patiently explained what the situation was. She said she'd get Sansa pads and tampons and would explain how to use them. After a shower and a makeshift pad consisting of toilet paper tucked into her knickers, Sansa was surprised to find not Shae but Cersei herself sitting on her bed.

"I believe these are for you" said the lady, holding up a shopping bag full of sanitary towels and tampons.

"Thank you" said Sansa, blushing.

Back then, she was so fascinated with Cersei Lannister that Sansa styled her hair like her, dressed like her, and sometimes even put on an American accent to answer the phone.

Cersei smiled her special smile, like she was sharing a private joke with you and was remembering great times you'd had together. She patted the bed at her side and Sansa obediently sat down.

"So you're a woman now, Sansa." Said Cersei.

When it was her, Sansa didn't mind being 'Sayn-ze'.

"You can have children. Not that you would want to right away," chuckled Cersei, and Sansa laughed along, all too happy to be sitting so close to her idol. "This is a big step in your life. Such a shame that your mother cannot be with you." At that, her slender hand pushed Sansa's hair behind her ear and Sansa almost felt like telling her all the bad things her mother had said about Cersei after she'd left. Almost. "Oh god, Sansa, there nothing to be embarrassed about. I had my first period when I was eleven. Eleven! Can you imagine? I was just as terrified as you would have been earlier."

Sansa was blushing. She would never, in all her life, have dreamt of having this sort of conversation with her own mother. Hell, she was lucky if she ever got a smile! She got a hug once, when their grandfather died.

"Ms Lannister... Please, would you mind keeping this a secret?" Whispered Sansa.

"Of course, darlin'. This is between us. Just between us girls. Maybe we can share with Myrcella when she comes of age?"

Sansa eagerly agreed, her and Myrcella getting along just fine. The younger girl drank Sansa's words like they were made of fresh water.

"I'll see you at dinner" smiled Cersei, and she squeezed Sansa's hand.

That night, at the dinner table, Cersei kept throwing knowing glances at Sansa, and the young girl was getting increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, as Myrcella was in the middle of a story about what had happened at lunch time at school that day, Cersei suddenly clapped her hands and exclaimed:

"Oh I cannot hold my tongue any longer! Sayn-ze has big news. Great news. Don't you, darlin'?"

Frozen, electrified, horrified beyond words, Sansa just shook her head as Cersei filled in the gaps for her. It didn't help that Tommen innocently pressed: "what news, mommy?"

Cersei shared a look with Sansa, competely ignoring the mask of utter terror on the girl's face.

"Our little Sayn-ze is now... A woman. There. I've said it. Sansa had her period this morning."

"Is that it?" Asked Tommen, uninterested.

"That is it, darling, but for a girl to get her period for the first time is a very big deal. Sansa is now a woman. She could be a mother, if she decides to have unprotected sex."

Sansa did not know where to look. The betrayal was so obvious it was hard to believe. Myrcella was looking at her with a mixture of awe and embarrassment on her behalf, Shae was looking at the ceiling, frowning,Tommen did not care, and Joffrey, now Joffrey was reacting weirdly. He just stared from across the table, intensely, and the look in his eyes was one of... Anger? Could that be it?

"Come on little dove, tell us what you've been using as a sanitary towel before myself and Shae got you those tampons. What have you been using, darlin? Come on now, don't be shy, it's just us family, what have you been stuffing in your knickers?"

Sansa awoke sigh a start, her cheeks streaming with tears, her heart beating a wild rhythm, and she gripped tightly onto the person bent above her. Margaery.

"Shh, shh, you're alright now love, you're ok..."

Sansa cried tears of relief into Margaery's arms, so incredibly happy that that awful evening was over. It was the first betrayal. The first time Cersei had shown her true face. Joffrey had followed soon after, but Sansa was not ready to relive that.

"You're fine, love." Repeated Margaery, patiently, stroking Sansa's hair and kissing her forehead.

After a while, when Sansa's sobs became more controlled, Margaery softly asked:

"Was it about him? Your nightmare, I mean."

"No." Sniffed Sansa. "Her."

At that second, in her mouth, the word sounded like pure acid.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Asked Margaery.

"No. Thank you but not, I really don't. She's not worth talking about. None of them are."

That hurt her a bit, because Myrcella and Tommen had been fine, really. They were just kids. Sansa pushed down the guilt.

Margaery held her for a bit longer before letting go. She remained in her bed though, and started looking through her phone. The device never left her side, even as she slept. Margaery was a popular girl.

"I've got something that may cheer you up" said the Australian girl, flicking through pictures. "Look what I've posted on Instagram last night, and got loads of likes."

Sansa's eyes took a few seconds to adjust in the darkness, but eventually she distinguished what it was had her friend all excited. It was a photo of her, Sansa, at the bar the previous night, blushing, looking down, all lights and dancing bodies blurred behind and around her, and the only other sharp figure was that of Oberyn, sitting opposite her, holding her wrist, looking at her like she was the sunshine and he was a light starved plant. That image made her laugh. Oberyn would be a cactus. Hundreds of people had liked the picture, Margaery had many followers. She'd met less than a fifth of them.

"Look at the way he stares at you. He's in love, I tell you."

"He doesn't know me" chastised Sansa, resisting the urge to ask her friend to send her the picture.

"Let him know you, Sansa." Pushed Margaery. "Let him get to know you all night long!"

"Margaery!" Cried Sansa, tearing herself from her friend' s grasp. Her prude education had never left her, despite everything.

"But Sansa he's nice!" Yelled the brunette.

For some reason, Margaery had become convinced that a nice guy was what Sansa was looking for.

"He's way older than me." Replied Sansa, getting herself a glass of water and going to stand at the window. "Men that age that go after girls my age can't be that nice."

"There's what, ten years between you two? You're twenty-four now, that's hardly a big deal."

"I'm pretty sure he's older than thirty-four." Sassed Sansa.

Outside, despite the early hours of the morning, people were moving about, walking to work, coming home from clubs.

"What's on for today?" Asked the English girl, eager to drop the topic of Oberyn.

"Waitressing at the hotel again." Replied Margaery. She then added: " Oberyn has liked the picture you know"

"God Margaery you're incorrigible!" Laughed Sansa, walking away to hide the red on her cheeks.

"Loads of people loved it" called out Margaery. "Someone called 'FirstOfHisName' has commented saying 'great picture, the girl is stunning! She looks like some sort of northern queen'. That's nice, isn't it Sansa? Maybe you should become a model and then be my sugar daddy."

But Sansa wasn't laughing. Queen in the north, that was something she'd heard before.

And it wasn't nice at all.


End file.
